


wake up and smell the coffee

by LunchLich



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Breakfast, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Living Together, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunchLich/pseuds/LunchLich
Summary: For once, Jon is already awake when Tim gets up for the day.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 114





	wake up and smell the coffee

Tim wakes up to the whirring of the fan and the warmth of their bed, the golden glow of sunlight starting to creep through the blinds to make vertical lines across the sheets. Martin is sleeping soundly beside him with his lips parted and his cheek squished up against the pillow he hugs to his face. His mess of curls is even messier than usual, and there's no doubt when he wakes up for the day half of his hair will be flattened against his head while the other half sticks up in all sorts of crazy directions. Tim tucks a few stray curls away from his face and smiles at the image of a groggy Martin shuffling into the kitchen with his bedhead and sleep in his eyes.

There's a distinct presence missing from the bed, though. He turns to the clock; Five-thirty. Christ. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up to stretch, peeks out into the hallway to see that the bathroom door is wide open and the light is shut off. He heads to the kitchen in just his boxers and is hit by the scent of coffee before he's even halfway there. It's rich and earthy in the air, the scent a promise of Jon (and caffeine.) 

Sure enough, Jon is sitting at their little kitchen table, coffee mug cupped in his hands as he stares out the window. Tim isn't sure what he could be looking at - the view was rather dull in his opinion, just their little yard and their little street that didn't see much commotion even when it wasn't five-thirty in the morning. Then again, Jon likely wasn't paying much attention to anything in the outside world. 

"Mornin'," Tim says on his way to the coffee pot. More than half of it has been drunk already, which hopefully means Jon feels enough like a human to converse at such an early hour instead of just grunting at him like he normally does in the morning.

"Good morning."

"How long've you been up? Don't tell me you never got to sleep." 

Jon always looks tired these days and the permanent lines carved beneath his eyes make it difficult to tell just how much sleep he'd missed out on. "No, no. I've been up for about an hour. Woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

"Mm. Well," Tim starts. He joins Jon at the table after pouring himself a cup and adding his usual sugar and cream. "Welcome to the early bird club, Mr. Owl. We get the worm." He grins, lopsided and dorky.

Jon rolls his eyes but Tim catches the small, subtle smile he gives despite himself. His hair is all frizzed out and pulled into a bun that looks like it could fall out at any moment and his early greys look like strands of glimmering silver in the morning light, like a spider's pretty silk when the intricate designs of a web catch the sun just right, and dear god Timothy Stoker is so stupidly in love. "I wake up early sometimes."

"Never on a Saturday, and only when you feel overwhelmed with work, or because of insomnia. You never get to relax and enjoy the sunrise!"

"Is that why you're always up and about so early?"

Tim shrugs. "Part of it. I feel more awake the rest of the day if I'm up early, y'know? And it's a nice quiet time before you bastards get up and hog all the coffee and grump up the energy at breakfast." He looks at him with a mischievous glint in his eye, to which Jon huffs out a tiny laugh before taking a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of - have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet. I was... ah..."

"Waiting for me to get up so I could cook for you?" He quirked a brow.

"...Yes." 

"Figured as much. You could have woken me up if you don't have it in you to make breakfast, you know that right?" Tim stood, setting his mug on the counter on his way to the fridge. They'd need to make a trip to the shop soon, he noted, but they had enough choices for today. "What're we feeling today?"

"I know, I just- I didn't want to disturb you. You looked comfortable." He mumbled as if he was embarrassed by his thoughtfulness. "Um. Pancakes, maybe?"

"Ooh. Blueberries in the batter, strawberries on top? Bit of powdered sugar? We can surprise Martin with a good breakfast."

"That does sound nice." Jon gets up and pushes his seat in like a true gentleman, shuffles over to stand next to Tim as if he's waiting for instruction. He's still holding his mug with both hands, in his too-big t-shirt and the cat-print pajama prints Georgie had gotten him this past Christmas. Jon stares at him with those doe eyes of his and Tim can't help but snicker at the sight. 

"Oh, up to being a chef's assistant since you aren't a morning-zombie for once?"

"Not with that attitude." He turns on his heel and takes a few steps towards the doorway with the threat of walking out. 

Tim laughs and reaches out to him with all the drama he can muster. He knows damn well Jon will leave him to cook alone, go sit in front of the TV and watch early morning sitcom reruns without him out of spite. "Babe, come back! I'm teasing, I promise." 

Jon turns, slow, and gives him a look. His brow furrowed and his mouth in a disdainful pout. The eye contact lasts for a whopping ten seconds before they both succumb to laughter, and Jon grants him forgiveness in the form of agreeing to help with pancakes. Tim grabs all the ingredients while Jon preps the mixing bowls and the pan. Tim gets everything mixed and into the pan to cook while Jon puts a kettle on and chops up fruit - he's a terrible judge of guessing when things are fully cooked, and the last time he made pancakes they came as a mixed bag of gooey centers and crisped edges. 

Tim turns when he hears a yawn from the doorway. Martin looks just how he'd pictured him earlier this morning. Hair an absolute disaster, all disoriented and squinting from the new light of the kitchen. He's sure if he was awake enough to process how he and Jon were looking at him, he'd get all embarrassed and rosy-cheeked. "Smells nice."

"Morning, cupcake."

"Good morning, Martin. Did you sleep well?"

Martin gives an affirmative hum and drags his feet to come give each of them a kiss on the cheek and check on breakfast. He rests his chin on top of Jon's head. "I'll go out on a limb and assume that you didn't sleep too well, though? if you're up this early of your own accord. And making pancakes."

"It's probably for the best. I get to enjoy the day more fully." 

"Do you have a fever? You're starting to sound like Tim." Martin brings his hand to Jon's forehead to jokingly check his temperature. "Going on about getting an early start to the day, making an actual breakfast at..." He pauses to peek at the clock on the wall. "Seven-fifteen. You're either turning into Tim or a retired old man."

"He acts more like the latter if you ask me."

Jon sighs, heavy and overdramatic, a message so clearly delivered as 'I am so tired this bullshit' that read as 'I love you both dearly'. "If I'm an old man at twenty-nine, then so be it, I suppose. I started tea for you, by the way, Martin." He gestures to the kettle. 

"Oh! Thank you."

Tim scooped the pancakes out onto their respective plates. The conversation ended there as they fell into a comfortable silence with only the chirping of birds outside and the pouring of tea as Martin made them each a cup, just the way they all liked it. He added milk to Tim's, a single scoop of sugar in Jon's, honey to his own. 

He was perhaps a little too invested and emotional about the intimacy of knowing exactly how each other took their tea or how they liked their food. He knew that Jon would want the pancakes that had ended up with more blueberries, and that Martin preferred to have more strawberries and less syrup on his. There was just something so sweet about knowing without asking, having known each other so long, having made pancakes just like this so many times. It never got tiring, though. the mornings spent with his boyfriends. Or afternoons. Evenings, nights, the strange middle-of-the-night moments that weren't quite morning but couldn't be called night anymore, either.

To show his appreciation, and to be a sappy little shit, he arranges the strawberries on their pancakes into heart-shapes.

He knows damn well he'll get teased and called a flirt when they take notice. Tim doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> my fiance brought this concept up this morning and it made me SOFT I had to get it out
> 
> its 2 am, I cranked this out and barely proofread it. here's hoping for the best!


End file.
